Hard to Handle (22 page)

Not long after Jacki explained the situation over her phone, a very stylish woman came bearing down on them with visible anticipation.

Jasmine saw her destiny being swept away.

“I
don't trust that smile, Harley. What are you up to?” Harley looked around at the crowded bar and knew he was close to cracking. He needed some guaranteed privacy.

Right now.

He took Stasia's hand. “Come on.”

“Here we go again.” She frowned at him. “Where do you want to go?”

He had no idea. “Out of here.”

“Harley, wait—”

He turned on her with barely leashed impatience. He wasn't angry at her, but he was determined to take control, so he did his best to moderate his mood.

Still, his voice sounded harsher than he wanted when he said, “I'm leaving, Stasia.” His nose almost touched hers. “Right now. You can either come with me or not. Decide.”

Reasonably, she said, “If we're going somewhere to talk, then I'll be happy to go with you.”

Her composure in the face of his upheaval stymied Harley. Through his teeth, he said, “Great.”

He concentrated on keeping his expression inscrutable as he led her back through the bar. The feel of her hand in his, warm, small, secure, did funny things to him.

How the hell could he miss holding a woman's hand? What was he, in grade school?

He went past Gloria, who tried to get his attention.

Past Crystal, who crossed her arms and pouted.

Near the middle of the floor, he spotted Gregor, Dean, their wives, and Barber clustered together with a red-haired woman he didn't recall meeting.

He paused by Barber. “Be a pal and keep that damn photographer off my heels.”

Barber looked at Stasia with understanding. “Sure thing, bro. But you'll owe me.”

“Whatever.”

The unfamiliar woman stared after him. The others just moved to form a line and before Harley had gone five feet, he heard the photographer protesting. He glanced back, and saw Gregor barring his way while Barber and Dean chatted him up.

Perfect.

Trotting to keep up with him, Stasia said, “What's your problem with the photographer?”

“I don't like having my every thought caught for posterity.” In most situations, he kept his thoughts well hidden. But around Stasia…she made everything sharper, especially his lust.

And his protectiveness.

Around her, he often felt raw, exposed, and so on edge that control seemed an unattainable attribute.

He wanted her, and he'd have her, but he didn't want her face advertised as his latest conquest in a damn MMA magazine.

“Aren't the photos to promote you?”

“Forget the photographer.” After reclaiming his coat from a young lady near the front door, Harley drew Stasia outside. “Did you drive?”

“Yes.”

“We'll worry about your truck later.” He led her toward the Charger and unlocked the passenger door. “Here we are.”

“Wow. New car?”

“It's a long story.” He waited until she was seated and then shut the door and hurried around to the driver's side.

“This is really nice, Harley. I'm impressed.”

“Don't be.” He got the car started and turned the heater on. “Have you eaten?”

“Not recently.”

Knuckles tight, he drove out of the parking space and onto the road. Every possible emotion churned. He wanted her, but he didn't want to want her. He was glad to see her when he knew that to be dangerous. Having her near was a comfort that he hadn't realized was missing.

“You want to go back to my place, or to a restaurant?”

Her small hand touched his upper arm. “Considering your mood and how easily I'm swayed, I think a restaurant might be better, don't you?”

No. Better would be getting inside her. Better would be holding her close and clearing his head with a mind-blowing come. “Whatever you want, Stasia.”

“I want to talk to you.”

“Yeah. In a little bit.”

She sat back against the seat, and Harley could practically hear her thinking.

“Okay,” she suddenly said, “I've changed my mind.”

A quick glance at her face didn't clear things up at all. “About?”

“I need to rent a room for the night. Tomorrow I hope to find more permanent arrangements. A house to rent, an extended stay—”

She planned to stay?
“Far as I know, Harmony doesn't have either. But Roger might be willing to work with you on it.” Harley couldn't believe those words had come from his mouth. His brows pinched down. “How long are you talking?”

Honest to the end, Stasia said, “That depends largely on you, which is what I'd like to talk about.”

“Me?”

“You.” She drew a breath. “Why don't we go to a hotel so I can rent a room, and then we can clear the air a little?”

If he got her alone in a room, he'd lose it. “How do you figure we do that?”

She stared out the windshield. “I could start by spelling out my plans.”

That almost scared him. But what the hell? He may as well hear it. “Go.”

“I'd like to be your life coach.”

Of all the things he'd imagined…“No.”

“I wouldn't charge you.”

“Hell no.”

She rushed into explanations. “It'd be a sort of payback, for all your help in Echo Lake, and before you explode—”

“I don't explode,” Harley ground out, feeling very close to doing just that. Damn it, where had his hard-won composure gone to?

“I know,” she said. “But the thing is, I think occasionally you should.”

He gave her a disbelieving stare. “That's a joke, right?”

“Harley, look, I've watched some of your fighting tapes, and I've talked to some people.”

Talked to some people
. Apprehension slammed into him. He steered to the side of the road and drew the car to a jarring halt, put it in park, and turned to face her.

Barely able to get the words out, he whispered, “You did what?”

“It's not what you're thinking.”

Bullshit. “You talked about me with other people?”

Stasia knotted her hands together. “All in all, I've learned what I could about your sport. That's all.”

Ah. Professional talk, not personal. He could handle that. Maybe.

“Idle curiosity?” he asked her, but he knew it wasn't.

“No. I've taken what I learned and applied it to you. To your style of fighting.”

“Now you know my
style
?” What the hell was she thinking? And here he'd thought Anastasia so grounded in reality, so reasonable and different from other screwy women.

So different to…him.

Unhooking her seat belt, Stasia twisted to face him. “In the beginning, when you fought your way up the ranks, you were like a maniac. Every move was automatic. Even when another fighter knocked you down, you were throwing punches and kicks. That's how you won, Harley, and that's who you are.”

His brain throbbed. “I don't fucking believe this.”

She frowned at his language, but it didn't shut her up. “Now you're so controlled that you've lost part of your edge.”

Lost his edge? “I'm on a twelve-win streak.”

“Yes, I know. You've only ever lost a few fights, and one of those was doctor stoppage from a cut above your eye. Otherwise you probably would have won.” For emphasis, she leaned toward him. “But Harley, you aren't having as much fun anymore.”

No, he wasn't. And so much insight from her—from any woman—didn't sit right. “It isn't about having fun. It's about a title belt.”

“That's the ultimate goal, I know. And I understand why. But I think it'd be easier for you to get if you were a happier, more carefree man. If you turned loose your basic instincts.”

Determined to get her mind off her harebrained idea of dissecting his fighting style when she didn't know jack about it, he whispered, “My basic instinct is to take you to bed.” He looked at her mouth. “What do you think, Stasia? You ready to try a little submission?”

“Nope.” She answered without hesitation. “Not today, and not tomorrow. Not ever.”

“We'll see.”

Her mouth twisted. “We're talking about your career, Harley.”

“I'm talking about being inside you.”

“Harley!” Her poise slipped. “There's a very natural inclination inside you to let it all out in the ring. I'm not talking about poor sportsmanship. No one would ever accuse you of that.”

“I hope not.” Giving up on sex for the moment, he put his head back and closed his eyes. Didn't it just figure that the first woman he wanted specifically—not just for sex, but for…well,
more
—would want to dick around with his career?

“When you fought those men who attacked us, you didn't plan out anything.”

Without opening his eyes, he asked, “How would you know?”

“I
saw
it.” Enthusiasm sounded in her voice. “You were so fast, so smooth. You reacted. Period. That's what's missing in your fights now.”

“Nothing's missing in my fights. Just ask Uncle Satch. I'm the new sensation for the sport. That's why photographers are dogging my ass and interviewers are interrupting my workouts and every product supplier out there wants me endorsing their shit.”

She retreated, softened. “None of that is bad, Harley.”

“Maybe.” He firmed his chin. “But it seems strange they'd be doing that if something was missing in my talent, huh?”

The seconds ticked by in silence. The car idled. Traffic went past.

Finally, her voice small and hurt, she said, “You think I'm way off base, don't you?”

He opened his eyes and turned his head toward her. “No offense, honey, but yeah. You are. But don't feel bad. The nuances of extreme fighting aren't something you learn overnight.”

Stasia hesitated, giving him pause, then she firmed her resolve. “A fighter's basic nature isn't something that should be mutilated either. I think that's what your uncle is doing to you.” Again, she touched his arm. “Just because you missed out on a few opportunities for the belt doesn't make icy control the answer.”

His blood froze. “What do you know of that?”

Her tongue came out to slick over her lips. “Not a whole lot, actually.” Cautiously, she measured her words. “I know that you were offered a shot at the belt early on, and you missed the opportunity because…of an illness in your family.”

Her words prompted so much pain that Harley laughed. “An illness in my family, huh? Is that your idea of tact?”

She closed her arms around herself. “Harley, it's cold. Couldn't we go someplace—”

“No.” He put the car back in gear and, after a quick glance in the side-view mirror, pulled back onto the street. “The conversation is over.”

“You're being stubborn.”

He made a U-turn and headed back to the bar. “I'll take you to your truck.”

She gave a long, frustrated sigh and ended it with a curt,
“Fine.”
Turning to look out her window, she added, “I won't beg you to listen to me.”

“Good.”

“Not tonight, anyway.”

Meaning she hadn't given up at all?

Hell, Harley knew stubbornness when it got shoved down his throat, and for whatever reason, Stasia was going to be stubborn about this.

They made the return trip to the bar in uncomfortable silence. Harley drove into the parking lot and even before he had the car completely stopped, Stasia opened her door, jumped out, and slammed the door again.

He shoved the car into park and rushed to follow her. “Wait a damn minute.”

“Conversation is over, Harley. Remember?”

He slipped in the snow, cursed, and caught up to her just as she reached her truck. She stopped abruptly. So did he.

Her front driver's side tire was slashed.

“Son-of-a-bitch,” Harley said.

Stasia stared at it a moment, then she looked up and scanned the surrounding area. When she spotted no one, she circled her truck to ensure no other tires were damaged.

“The rest okay?”

She nodded. Under her breath, as if Harley wasn't standing there right beside her, she muttered, “Damn it,” and then she headed toward the bar.

“Where are you going?”

“Inside to make a few calls. It's too cold out here.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “And no, I don't need your manly assistance. I'm more than capable of calling roadside service all by myself. I can find my own hotel room, too. Go home with a clear conscience, Harley.”